The Turn of the Tide. An Irish Story of the Day

Front matter

The Turn of THE Tide. THIS WORK AND ALL THE PUB LICATIONS OF THE ROXBURGHE PRESS ARE SUPPLIED TO THE TRADE BY MESSRS. SIMPKIN, MARSHALL, HAMILTON, KENT & COMPANY, LIMITED, AND CAN BE OBTAINED THROUGH ANY BOOK SELLER. TUK TURN OF THE TIDE %n Jrisj} Storg of tfcrc gag BY K ROBERT THYNNE, AUTHOR OF "ravensdai.e"; "story of Australian exflokation " ; etc "Marry, this is miching mallecho : it means mischief."— Shakk.ffarp "We have often thought that the motion of the public mind in our country resembles that of the sea when the tide is rising. A person looking on the waters only for a moment might fancy they were retiring ; a person who looked on them only for five minutes might fancy that they were rushing capriciously to and fro; but when he keeps his eye on them for a quarter of an hour, and sees one sea-mark disappear after another, it is impossible for him to doubt the general direction in which the ocean is moved."— Macaulay THE ROXBURGHE PRESS 3, VICTORIA STREET WESTMINSTER

Preface

IN the course of an indulgent notice of a former story by the writer, the Saturday Review used the following words : "To write of the Gaelic people, who are, perhaps, inconveniently assert ing themselves all over the world, in the style that was popular thirty years ago, would be too flagrant an anachronism. Notions of the Irish are yearly becoming more and more confused, and opinions concerning their merits and prospects are in so transitional a state that, except, perhaps, in some Irish circles, old estimates are generally dismissed as obsolete. Let us praise the author of Eavensdale for seeing this. His peasants are not 'men whose heads do grow beneath their shoulders.' He avoids the patois, so rankly racy of the soil, which -has been generally used in Irish fiction ; nor does he indulge in the conventional local colour, so wonderful in height and depth, that there is nothing like it in other human societies.

The book is free from vulgarity and immorality, from tricks of style and imitation of those dealers in Irish fiction who, from to the author of , have done irreparable mischief by using the arts of caricature, and every method of insincerity, to increase the antago nism between English and Irish modes of life, and impede that mutual acquaintance which might have secured mutual respect." The personal references are left blank here. The extract itself is given for what is suggested favourably, rather than for what is otherwise commented on. Not but the strictures may have their final application in a reading public, which encourages and is supplied. In pursuit of these same suggestions, the following pages have been written, though not without a perception VI

PREFACE.

of the disadvantages such a mode of treatment entails, apart from the merits or demerits of the result. Paradoxical — nay, incorrect, as it may appear — the mind, in the matter of mere amusement, rests most satisfied when entertained with familiar and even conventional types. The incidents may be new, the complications novel and striking, but custom directs that old favourites should be recognised throughout these various evolutions. There is reason for this. After all, what is fiction ? what is the imaginative art itself but the reproduction of ideas already in association with the minds of its audience ? It must be admitted that this is particularly hard on the writer of Irish fiction. Here convention is specially rigid and exacting. Usage demands that such a writer should confine himself to two departments of his art, if they are worthy of the name — Buffoonery and Sentiment.

He may revel in one or the other, he may even combine them ; but to go outside these limits is to provoke the question whether he is acquainted with the country he has taken in hand. Is there reason for this, too ? The peculiar hardship of the case is that there is not. It is demonstrable that the essential requirement of fiction, of all imaginative art, is this recognition, in the minds of its audience, of the ideas presented to it. Equally demonstrable is the fact that the ideas of Irish fiction have no corresponding being in nature ; they are conventional. The substance exists, but our Irish artist is advised to give his attention to the shadow instead. He is told, it would appear correctly, that his audience accepts as representatives of reality that

PREFACE.

VII which has no claim upon reality at all. And this accept ance is founded on custom only. To be sure, this latter assertion admits of a certain form of denial. It may be said that no audience, even in its most imaginative moods, accepts convention for convention's sake only. In replying, there is no need to instance those half truths, so dear to half minds. If for no other reason, our present theme is mere amusement — the occupation of the idle hour. Under such circumstances, no one is asked to examine his mental fare as to whether it contains the proper proportion of truth-forming elements, or whether the seasoning employed is to be weighed by the grain or by the bushel. Certainly there is an Irish character. Would that the powers of the present writer were adequate to do justice to it !

Failing that, exception may be taken to the mere caricatures and travesties which are offered instead. Nor is the complaint untenable that more honest work is thus handicapped. Especially as regards Irish fiction, the high seasoning has had its results, and the public taste, first grown vitiated, has next palled. To drop metaphor, the mind, where it takes no near interest in matters, is ever prone to accept a sentimental, or even a ludicrous, view of them. Misrepresentation of Irish character has not brought merely a conventional taste with it. A proportionate weakening of interest has followed. The easy tear, the loud laugh which speaks the vacant mind — are not these the counterfeit exchange for true sympathy ? The public has ceased to try to understand " these Irish " ; difficult, indeed, would be the task from the materials presented to it !

PREFACE.

VIII The following pages are written with little hope, or even intention, of working out a more legitimate course in Irish fiction. The task would demand greater and more varied qualifications than mere honesty of repro duction. There must be honest invention, too, not the travesty which couples impossible character with equally impossible incident. Nay, what could exclusive develop ment of the Irish side of human nature yield but another travesty of still more unsympathetic type ? Nature itself must be the basis of all imaginative art, which the local colourist should be careful not to hide. He should seek for semblances more than for contrasts. When he succeeds there is uniformity rather than the contrary. The canvas is less glaring, and thus appears more common. If these be humble aspirations, the present writer is aware that he has fallen short of them.

In the former story his hope was to represent the men and motives of a past phase of Irish history — that of the Emmet insurrec tion of 1803 — as he read it. In the present tale men and their motives are similarly taken in hand under a some what similar phase, only of to-day. There is merely an earnest study of his subject and absolute singleness of purpose. There will be found no sentiment. If the writer has not attained to the native humour of his countrymen, he has certainly not clothed them in the foreign garb of the buffoon. For the rest, the story beino of to-day, no attempt has been made to catch the dignity of history. Eather the contrary has been sought. The many other requisites of good Irish fiction still await more competent workmen. CONTENTS

Chapter I. The Police Hut

ABOUT the period of the opening of these sketches, scenes such as now distinguished the Ballinteer estate were beginning to make themselves apparent, here and there, throughout the country parts of Ireland. Matters were to become worse ; the " unwritten law " of the Land League was not so supreme as it was yet to be. As a foretaste, landlords were left " severely alone," and some show of agricultural operations were carried on by the aid of emergency-men under police protection. Here is one of such scenes which, not infrequently, presented itself to the tourist in Ireland. For the time being, our imaginary spectator is monarch of all he surveys. But charms the solitude certainly has. They are charms once cultivated, too ; so much he can see for himself. The flowing stream had been taught — here to tumble down a cunningly-constructed impediment — there to expand into a miniature lake.

The tall and stately trees have been artfully formed into clumps for effect : even in the succession of hill and dale, is still traceable the hand of man. But now the stranger is alone with inanimate nature. Yet, hark ! footsteps approach. They are those of an emergency-man. Behind him follow two policemen, armed in the semi-military fashion of the Irish constabulary force. The business of the emergency-man is to unlock a gate, in order that some cattle may pass from the field they have been grazing in to an adjoining one. While he performs his task, the two policemen lean on their rifles ; his task performed, the emergency man again takes the lead from the scene. No word has been spoken. The business of the constabulary is to protect life and limb, only. Soldiers — mere soldiers — might, and did, assist in agricultural operations, even to fraternisation.

But, on duty, it behoved an Irish policeman to consider himself as a higher exponent of law and order. We leave the scene ; our concern lies with this small escort and its smaller charge, whom we now, in our turn, also follow. In the meantime, doubtless, our imaginary tourist is reflecting over what he has seen ; eventually he may write a book on it. But, before doing so, we trust he will peruse the following matter-of-fact memoirs. Half-an-hour's walking has brought the objects of our present attention to a small temporary, though bullet-proof, structure. Here there is another policeman and another emergency-man, and preparations for the mid-day meal are in progress. Duty disposed of for the time, our company evinces symptoms of loquacity, especially the semi-military portion of it; the emergency -men have grown up in bucolic taciturnity, and now silently await meal-time.

The returned members of the Force divest themselves of their arms and accoutrements ; the stay-at-home member is already in undress. Thus brought nearer alike in external guise, natural and inherent distinctions are seen to assert themselves. One of these THE POLICE HUT 15 returned members is as unmistakably from the north of Ireland as his companion hails from the southern extremity of the country. The third is local, belonging to the intermediate Leinster, in which province the Ballinteer estate lies. Macnab, such being the patronymic the Ulster man bears, is tall and soldierly, further displaying many of those Scottish terms of speech and thought which he has inherited from his Caledonian ancestors. On the other hand, " Rebel Cork," for so his companions playfully designate him, offers a sufficiently strong contrast in his broad Milesian accents and Celtic idiosyncrasies.

Rebel, however, he is none, having accepted service with honest and single interest toward the duties thereof. "Now, Cook" — this from Macnab to the Leinster man — "how times the bit meal wi' the clock? Ye'll call to memory sundry discrepancies of late. Whiles, it 's behind the hour — then it's hurried up, and no' that satisfactory. I ay notice the like disagreements as a man comes south." "Why don't you take the cooking yourself, Macnab?" was the rejoinder. " Me ! the officer in charge ! Hout, man ! this is no respectful talk ! " "I'd take it myself, rather," said Rebel Cork, whose real name was Mahony; "Macnab would poison us all round with some of his Scotch abominations." "I'll make a cock-a-leekie for ye some of these days," volun teered the inconsistent Macnab ; " or what say ye to a sheep's head haggis?

Mind, you'll have to be ceevil, and someone will have to write my reports. It 's in correspondence I am with the Castle in Dublin." " Tell them to send down another acting-sergeant here, or you might say you know another man who could do the duties better." "They wouldn't believe me. 'We can't spare you from where you are, Macnab, or it's promotion we'd be offering you.' That's the answer I'd get." By this time the belated meal had been served, and the united company commenced to partake in common, though not, however, to the total cessation of the conversation. Again Macnab led the discourse. " These owners of Ballinteer — Annesleys, I 've heard you call them, Kelly?" The constable who had so lately exercised the office of cook nodded, adding, "Annesleys they were, an Annesley there is still " "Forbye, Ballinteer House being closed for years — as my information runs?

You've been raised in these here parts, Kelly?" " Boy and man, I' ve known BaUinteer House : open to hospitality, as it was — empty and closed, as you remark now." " Hem ! hospitality ! — maybe overmuch of that?" "It may be Macnab is right, Kelly," interposed the Corkonian. "Doubtless, among his other observations, his notice has extended to a warmer disposition in his travels south." Even the bucolics laughed ; but so did Macnab, too. "'Deed, but the Cork man is right. Extremes meet in point of retort, as in more solid exercises of the mind. I '11 no deny the hke observation to the south, more specially to Cork. The now, extremes meet on neutral ground. Proceed, Kelly, to afford us your local information." Thus appealed to, the local man, nothing loth, continued : " Cork is right enough, Macnab.

Nor will I gainsay your own comment ; fashion had it so, and the Annesleys were not behind their neighbours. It may be there was overmuch of THE POLICE HUT 17 the open house, as you say. What should a gossoon, as I was then, know about the like , Anyway, the estate grew smaller, and, finally, the family went abroad. You are not to confound what was with what is. An open house is counted no dis paragement in these parts, nor yet further south, as Mahony will tell you, Macnab. A new fashion has come up, but not from their objection to the old. The Annesleys were popular, and could have stood their ground on that head — ay, and on other heads — if orders hadn't come from outside " • " From headquarters — from the wire-pullers ? " "Just so. There's the Castle of Dublin, from where we get our commands ; and there 's a mock Castle, from where the people get their commands.

That 's the later fashion I speak of. How the Annesleys are going to stand such test remains to be seen ; and that, I'm told, will be soon." " The family purposes to return ? " " There is only one young man now. Well, the rumour is that the present owner of Ballinteer means to see tlie game with his own eyes — and without police protection, too. So, Macnab, now 's your time to urge your claims upon the Castle — the real Castle." Again the bucolics made audible intimation of their appre ciation of this encounter of northern and southern wit ; but Macnab's reply assumed a more serious tone. "Dinna drive a joke to death, Mahony. As for this young owner of Ballinteer, we can all understand the situation. He'll be too heavily weighted ; a stranger can see that. These wire pullers — these leaders of the people, as they call themselves— may not let go their grip of such favourable conditions as the Ballinteer estate presents to them."

"Ay, to them, Macnab — you're about right there." "Just sq — to them, for the purposes they have in hand. B An impoverished landlord, asked to make impossible con cessions ! Those are the conditions the Land League seeks, and follows up. I rather think it will follow this up. The popularity of the name he bears may save this young man from actual violence. But friend and follower will have to give him a wide berth, or they 'll know wherefore. That 's the fashion you speak of, Kelly. Well, it's no' a hospitable fashion, whatever way you take it." The approaching clatter of horse-hoofs was now heard. The sound was a familiar one, for the members of the Force rose from their seats, and stood to " attention !" Presently, a young man, the constabulary officer of the district, entered the hut. Macnab reported " All quiet !

" to his superior's question. "'Tis well," was the officer's comment, given with an ex pression of satisfaction. " We are needed elsewhere. A decree was obtained against Cullen, of Bartra, for five years' rent, last week. It is purported to drive the cattle off the lands before the decree can be executed. We have reason to regard the information as correct. Anyway, we must act upon it." " Bartra is ten miles distant as the crow flies. It cannot be reached by sundown." "No. And nothing can then be done until sunrise. We must be there at sunrise, travelling under the shade of night. How many are you here, all told?" "Five, counting the emergency-men." "Their assistance is indispensable. The cattle, if we lind them, must be driven to Kells ; there is no Pound nearer. Moynalty will furnish ten men — Mullagh six.

We may need all, and more. I am going to look up a station or two, yet." Then, having given more minute instructions as to time 'of starting, place of general meeting, arms and ammunition to be brought, the Inspector proceeded on his further way.

Chapter II. How The Bridge Was Kept

IT was not until after midnight that our small contingent from the Police Hut on the Ballinteer estate joined the main body of the Force, whose final destination was the farm of Bartra. Such movements of the constabulary, in assist ance, or rather mere protection, of the purely civil issues of the law, were narrowly watched, and intelligence thereof swiftly communicated from townland to townland. Hence the necessity for selecting the most lonely hours of the night, as also the most deserted bye-ways which intervened. The night happened to be a dark and tempestuous one, affording all the more reasonable prospect of thus stealing a march on Cullen's farm. Long, however, before the advent of the dawn, and while the farm itself was yet some miles distant, such prospects were found to be illusory.

Scouts rose from the most un frequented spots, and stole silently away. Soon this silence was exchanged for an increasing and accompanying din. Horns were blown along the route, and the chapel-bell loudly proclaimed to all who had ears to hear, to be up and stirring. When the dawn did appear, the hills on either side of the advancing party were seen to be covered with wildly gesticulating and apparently highlyexcited mobs, keeping pace with it. ■20 Occasional showers of stones reached the comparatively small constabulary force, and attempts, too, were made to cut down trees to further impede its course. Both efforts were sought to be evaded by a more rapid advance. But, so far, no nearer conflict was entered upon. In fact, such tactics seemed to argue no higher motive than delay, causing the trained force to press on with redoubled speed.

The proof of this was apparent when the farm itself was reached. The cattle had been hastily driven in from the outlying portions of it, preparatory to their removal to other lands where distraint, in its legal acceptation, would not hold good. So far, the constabulary detachment was sufficiently in time, with the additional advantage of having the cattle brought together. Nevertheless, the task before it was known to be an arduous, and even perilous, one. For, trying and exasperating as had been the last few miles of advance to the farm, there was now an equally long march, encumbered by some fifty head of cattle, before the police detachment ; while the opposing body, now largely increased, and certainly outnumbering it ten or even twenty times over, had lashed itself into a perfect fury of resentful disappointment.

In this critical position, an unexpected advocate of law and order appeared in the person of the owner of the farm himself. Cullen was now an old man. He was known to be in comfort able circumstances, and had the character, whether deservedly or not, of being at the same time both timorous and greedy. His action on the present occasion went far to prove the correctness of the public judgment. A few years ago, in all probability, he would have paid his rent and secured his cattle. But with advancing years, avarice and timidity, if they have existed, rather increase than diminish. He feared the Land HOW THE BRIDGE WAS KEPT 21 League, whose power was now becoming confessed throughout the country ; while its promises to preserve to him both his money and his stock so far successfully acted on his greed.

Thus he had given his consent that his neighbours, who probably would have no such choice when their own turns came, should remove the cattle to a temporary place of safety. But now, when he found this object frustrated, and law really in the ascendant, his natural cowardice dictated the side he should join. Slowly, and still hesitatingly, the old man took his money from its place of security, with a view of tendering it in payment of his debt. But Cullen's fears were not confined to the Land League alone. He possessed two sons, whose action on the present morning had been particularly conspicuous and defiant. Probably they had their anticipations of their father's vacilla tion, or rather change of purpose ; for they now followed him to his room, and a lengthened and angry conference was the result.

However, for once the old man appeared to have been firm, and the two young men left the house quietly, and even stealthily. Then ensued a still longer interval. The cattle were becoming restless. The young Cullens had rejoined their companions, mostly young men of their own age. It was from this point of time that the restlessness of the cattle became most apparent. The civil authorities accompanying the constabulary force, disliking the aspect of affairs, approached the old man for his final decision in the matter. To all appearances he still hesitated. His strong-box was open, his money was on the table beside him, but no actual tender of it was made by him. The noise and tumult outside grew apace. Suddenly there was a scuffle ; angry voices rose ; the thundering of many hoofs resounded; the cattle had burst away.

The confusion appeared to restore the old man, once again, to his firmness. He collected his money together. He put it into his strong-box, which he locked carefully and even slowly. After that, he faced the civil authorities sadly, but with the same deliberation. " You see my position, gentlemen — it is a very painful one. I daren't pay rent ; the cattle must go." The cattle had already gone — of that there could be no doubt. The cattle had gone first ; the young men of the district had managed to throw themselves between the herd and the constabulary ; but the constabulary, suspecting a trick, were well on their heels ; and the whole stampede was now a compact mass in rapid movement. The ruse of the young Cullens — for such it was — could hardly have given promise of ultimate success to them.

Probably, its effect on their father was all that was anticipated, or hoped for. The old man would have preferred to keep his cattle as the more valuable of the two. But the fierce zealots of the Land League were satisfied that the payment of rent should be averted at all cost. This was their only success. Soon, the stampede resolved itself into more regular components. The constabulary dis placed the young men from the mass altogether, putting the emergency-men in their stead. Then, the constabulary took up a position on each side of the herd, thÆr assailants again retiring to the hills on either hand. All the time, the stampede continued with unabated movement. Up to this time, the police had behaved with absolute for bearance, and, it might be fairly said, with good humour. Rough words, and even frantic gesticulations, break no bones ; HOW THE BRIDGE WAS KEPT 23 while, as for the showers of stones, for the most part they fell short.

Their assailants had started the march for them ; but, in other respects, it gradually fell into such disposition as was to be expected by the guardians of the law, and prepared for. Yet, anxieties were on the increase nevertheless. The road now lay through a deep gorge, having a continuous line of heights on either side. For the first time, men with firearms made their appearance on those rising grounds, keeping pace with the detachment as it advanced. The object was sufficiently manifest. At present, the range of fire was too distant, even for the better arms of the constabulary, to say nothing of the more antiquated guns in the possession of their opponents. But when the line of hills on each side of the gorge approached nearer to each other, as was known to be the case, the position of the small constabulary force must necessarily become critical, met, as it would then be, by two opposite fires, each exceeding by number the return of the constabulary.

Under these circumstances, a halt was called, and the superior officers of the force hastily conferred together. All told, the constabulary numbered thirty. The emergency men carried no arms, and, except for the preservation of their own lives, should necessity arise, were not supposed to act aggressively, or even defensively. The arrangements gradually brought about after the hurried start from Cullen's farm have been already described. They were now subjected to the following modifications only. The fifty head of cattle were placed in front. Their care was entirely entrusted to the emergency-men. Half the police force took up position on one side, half on the other. Practically, all opposition had ceased in the front and in the rear ; it came only from the superior grounds on right and left.

No doubt, stones continued to be hurled from the back, and efforts at impediment, such as felling trees and even breaking down bridges, were essayed on the line of march. Still, the armed and converging heights were the real dangers of the way. About two miles from their destination, the physical features of the country assumed another change. The hills terminated with the near bank of a stream swollen by the late rains. The road, down which the whole muster now swept rapidly, con tinued its way by means of a bridge, which, in its turn, led out into a comparatively flat country. The bridge itself was still intact. In fact, the action of the small police detachments on each side had retarded the progress of their opponents, and the emergency-men with the cattle were now actually in advance of friends and foes.

The officer in command seized the advantage for a new and sudden change of evolution. The cattle were allowed to sweep over the bridge in charge of the emergency-men alone, and were then in uncontested possession of the way beyond. To the police was communicated the order to halt, and face the pursuing body. For a moment, the forces of order and dis order took the measure of each other's strength. Then, the police steadily retired on the bridge, taking possession of it amid a dropping fire from their assailants. " In half an hour the cattle will be safe in the Pound. For so long, the bridge must be held." It was the officer in charge who spoke, and his men pro ceeded to make the best arrangements possible, under nearer and increasing fire. The bridge itself afforded no practicable shelter, aud the entire destruction of the force was averted only by keeping the approaches clear of assailants.

Here, the arms of precision found their use, though still impeded by the ambush with HOW THE BRIDGE WAS KEPT 25 which the ground in front abounded. Eventually, it became necessary to keep this ground clear by a small detachment, whose business was to storm each ambush, driving its occupants back upon the main body. This was not accomplished without casualties, and already more than one of the police had been brought back by their comrades seriously injured, before a reinforcement, appearing on the road, caused the opposition to abandon further efforts, and sullenly retire. This reinforcement consisted of twelve fresh men, and fortunately was accompanied by a vehicle, the account of the emergency-men being suggestive of its need. One of the wounded men had already succumbed to the violent treatment received.

The case of two more was doubt ful. Of these latter, one was Macnab of the Police Hut. "There 's life in him," said Kelly, recognising his companion. " Not overmuch of it, though," was the reply of the occu pant of the vehicle, who was the medical man of the district, and was now proceeding with a more thorough examination. " We must get him up to the Mount, Mr. Ogleby's place — it 's the nearest. After that, he '11 have to be brought to town, if he's worth bringing; it's a case for a large hospital only, and a large staff. The other man I will take charge of myself ; if matters go right, I will restore him to duty. But the Force will need more active men than Macnab is likely to be."